


i wonder why i cannot see with no sight

by blackwood (transjon)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon Asexual Character, Developing Relationship, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, ace flavor: yes unless no. also no unless yes. no <3, inability to transition, sort of stalking (see end notes pls!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: Jon, with his voice perhaps louder than he’d meant for it to be, firmer than he’d meant for it to be, had said “Ionlygo by Jonathan,” and then, quieter, less sure, “or Jon is okay too.”Elias had looked at him with nothing negative in his eyes he could identify, but then again Jon’s never been the best at judging emotional states.“That’s fine,” Elias’d told him evenly. “Can you start Monday?”
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 119





	i wonder why i cannot see with no sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chickenshithypocrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenshithypocrite/gifts).



> RIGHT!! few things before we get into this.
> 
> 1\. jon experiences [severe] physical/body dysphoria. this is discussed in terms of top (chest) dysphoria, bottom dysphoria, but also general body stuff incl. masculine traits that might not be immediately obvious (like shoulder/hip bone structure, facial bone structure, facial/body hair, muscle mass, hands, ALL SORTS OF STUFF). this is NOT something every trans person feels. dont get your trans education from fanfic. this is only one possible way to feel about your body as a trans person. jons experience here happens to be more dysphoria tinted than some other peoples. its also probably less dysphoria tinted than some other people's. **if secondhand or sympathetic dysphoria is something youre vulnerable to take this as a content warning for that.**
> 
> 1b. there is SOME ~learning to live with yourself~ stuff here that isnt something thats going to be realistic for every trans person who experiences debilitating dysphoria (or any dysphoria at all!). again, dont get your trans education from fanfic. this is not something thats going to be relatable for every trans person, and its not meant to reflect every trans experience. the moral of this story isnt 'if you just try to love yourself you dont have to transition at all.' this is not an educational story. there is no point im trying to get across. sometimes people who want to transition but cannot can learn to cope with the physical reality of their situation even when its distressing to a point where the situation is no longer actively distressing. sometimes people can learn to cope with their situation even thought its still distressing. sometimes people cant do even that. none of those are better or worse, or indicate success/failure. 
> 
> 1c. jon in this fic is not an objective trans person whose opinions or worldviews are indicative of _my_ worldviews or opinions re: the wider trans community, trans politics, or the value of community. theyre also not indicative of the opinions of any trans person or community in general that should be taken as any kind of an authority. jon is not anyones mouthpiece here. i disagree actively with some of his thoughts or opinions and couldnt relate to some of his feelings any less than i do. 
> 
> 2\. martin is a transmasculine person who is on t and has been on it for a while. jons jealousy of his ability to ~pass~ and the fact that he was able to go on T at all can come across as jarring. he's just been given news that, to him, feel life ending, and before that he's experiencing the full effects of the disturbingly underfunded and gatekeeping happy UK trans healthcare system. he's jealous and grieving, not objective and right to lash out at someone else. the timeframes given here are based on real waiting times through the NHS (free healthcare).
> 
> 3\. this doesnt blatantly come up but i imagine that while elias is cis, jonah is/was trans. i am not interested in any sort of debate about this specific portrayal of jonah/elias and especially not from any cis person. whether or not you feel ~uncomfortable~ about trans headcanons is not something i care about and you can feel free to keep that to yourself forever. other trans people are welcome to feel uncomfortable but do that somewhere that isn't the comments of this fic. take this as your indicator to stop reading.
> 
> 4\. this is an au in some ways, mostly elias here is less evil although jonah does still bodyhop so like go figure. there will be no eyepocalypse in this universe down the line, just elias being like "actually living forever is neat :)"
> 
> 5\. the mild sexual content is not explicit, but its like, definitely there. jons bits are referred to very vaguely. they are also not interacted with - the context in which theyre brought up is 'dont touch me there'. dysphoria over his bits is mentioned and discussed in some detail in the context of sex. there is a general sentiment of wrongness that is a constant throughout the fic when it comes to discussions of jons body _in general_. the sexual stuff alludes to dubcon and rape is brought up as a hypothetical.
> 
> 6\. there are mentions of chaser behavior and fears of your cis partner being with you bc they have a fetish. thats not the case with elias but its brought up as a possibility.
> 
> 7\. **talk about detransitioning as a hypothetical route to take in response to inability to transition medically**. it doesnt happen but its floated as an option by jon.
> 
> FINALLY, title is from deploy by jack stauber. im out of characters so additional warnings are in end notes.

Getting promoted hadn’t been something he’d expected would happen. When he thinks about it, he’s not even sure he’s qualified at all. He probably isn’t. 

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. 

So:

Being the head archivist means he gets his own office, and a work laptop, and more paid vacation time. It means he gets a raise – nothing too high, certainly not enough to allow him to move to a nicer flat (and wouldn’t it be nice to have an elevator – maybe even in a slightly nicer area –), but when Jon gets his first paycheck with the raise factored in he realizes he can justify going private. 

It makes him start shaking. There, the banking app still open on his phone, fingers twitching with adrenaline, calculating whether food and bills will eat up everything after rent, he realizes he can put a good hundred pounds directly into savings without waiting for the next paycheck to come in first. 

He can afford it. The hysterical chuckle turns into a sob, which turns into laughter again. 

–

So it goes like this:

Jon’s parents die. He doesn’t remember them. His grandma takes him in. Her Jon remembers. She, too, dies, and Jon never gets to come out to her. In a way that’s better, probably. She can’t disapprove of what she doesn’t know. Jon gets a referral, which gets lost somewhere between his GP and the gender identity clinic, and he doesn’t even find out that it’s happened til he calls the GP directly to ask if they know why he hasn’t gotten any sort of a letter back. They give him another referral. Four months later they tell him the waiting list is going to be three years long. 

What he’d thought was, _I’ll keep this job until I can get on T, and then I’ll finally find a new job, and nobody will know any better._ But the crappy office job he’d gotten right out of uni hadn’t been something he could handle for three years. And then he was at the Institute, where Elias Bouchard, in a crisp suit with his greying hair bleached blond had squinted at the mismatch of the name on his ID card he’d brought with him and the one on his CV.

Jon, with his voice perhaps louder than he’d meant for it to be, firmer than he’d meant for it to be, had said “I _only_ go by Jonathan,” and then, quieter, less sure, “or Jon is okay too.”

Elias had looked at him with nothing negative in his eyes he could identify, but then again Jon’s never been the best at judging emotional states. 

“That’s fine,” Elias’d told him evenly. “Can you start Monday?”

And in research he’d been with – 

Martin’d sort of floated up to him. Kind of like a dragonfly. “Hey,” he’d said. 

“Hi,” Jon’d said back. There’d been a moment of tension where it’d seemed like Martin had wanted to say something, but he hadn’t. Just nodded at Jon. It’d taken him another few weeks to realize that on the backpack Martin would leave in the corner of the little room they all shared, desks pushed against each other in pairs, he had a little trans pride pin. He hadn’t really known what to do, then – he’d never been one for _community_ or _pride_ or _advertising_ it. He’d supposed it should’ve made him feel supported. Like at least he had one ally. Someone who got it. 

Instead it’d made him feel worse. Like it was so obvious people needed to let him know they could _tell_.

He’s there a few years. Research is fine. Everyone is fine. Elias is fine. Elias is –

Elias never once misgenders him. He gets IT to fix his employee file to only show his name, instead of what he’s still yet to go get changed. It’s easy, he thinks. Something he could do any old weekday. Another part of him wants to cling onto the idea that soon he will change both his gender marker and his name. Together. That way he only has to change his legal documentation once. Get his new IDs and stuff once. All that paperwork. He looks it up one night, exhausted and increasingly overstimulated as he writes down every place he needs to call or email or go visit to change his information, and thinks _I can do three years._

But three years is a long time. 

He gets it changed. His new IDs come in. He takes them to work just to get everything sorted out internally, tax stuff and all that, and Elias hears about it, because of course he does, and he pats him on the shoulder in a way that maybe is, technically speaking, inappropriate, but that just makes him feel _better_. He asks if he can bring in a _cake_. Jon says no. Elias doesn’t look disappointed, but he does tell him that if he _changes his mind_ to just let him know. 

And then he gets a promotion. The predicted date for him to get an appointment looms a year in the future, still. And yet, for the first time in years, the only thing he can feel is _hope_. 

–

The blood results come back. The woman on the phone sounds sympathetic enough. Jon hangs up while she’s still mid sentence. It’s half accident. Mostly muscle memory. If you press the red button the noise stops. That’s all.

–

So then for the next week it goes like:

Jon, at his desk, eyes red, miserable and swimming in the hoodie he’s wearing. He never wears anything like this to work. It’s always a dress shirt. Slacks. Nice shoes. Today he gets dressed. Looks at himself in the mirror. Decides he doesn’t want anyone to see quite so _much_ of him. Ideally nobody would see any of him ever again, but unfortunately that seems impossible. 

Martin comes into the office without knocking, a look of worry on his face. Jon looks at the angles of his jaw. The stubble on his cheeks, down his throat. 

“I’m fine,” he tells him without waiting for Martin to ask. Some hatred that he can’t shake finds its way into his voice. Martin, stricken with what seems to be almost despair, turns around and leaves quietly. 

The next person to come in is Elias.

It’s already almost dark out. He hasn’t bothered to turn on the ceiling light, the sun outside lighting the room well enough before, and now that the golden part of the sunset has come and went it’s getting hard to see the papers in front of him. 

“Jon?” Elias says, and then frowns. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Elias,” he says back. “Ah, sorry, forgot to turn on the light.”

Elias raises his eyebrows at him. He flicks the light switch on, and Jon finds himself blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness. 

“Are you okay?” Elias asks. Jon remembers his bloodshot eyes. The red tip of his nose. His cheeks are probably flushed, still. 

“Fine,” he says curtly. “What brings you in?”

“I was going to ask if you were planning on taking the day off still,” Elias says. “You requested tomorrow off. Just wanted to follow up on that.”

“Oh,” Jon says. Mechanical. Tomorrow was _going_ to be the follow-up appointment. The one where they go over the injection schedule. Talk about surgery, maybe. Transfer the prescription over to his GP, if possible. That’s not happening anymore. 

“No,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot to let you know. I don’t need it off anymore.”

Elias’ face softens. “Take it off. And take the rest of the week off, as well. I don’t know what happened but you, ah, forgive the bluntness, you look horrible.”

“Thank you,” Jon says dryly. “Appreciate it.”

–

In front of the mirror Jon looks at himself in the eyes and pretends that he doesn’t exist beyond that part of his body. 

Fingers. Shoulders. Something wrong with everything he can see. Wearing as many clothes as he’s wearing it’s hard to tell what the shape of his body is. Just the lines of where it starts on the edges and then blends into the lumpy shape of his oversized hoodie. 

It’s the one he got from Georgie. It’s been so long since he wore it every day. Since he wanted to just stop looking like _anything_. Years of progress down the drain just like that.

–

Elias, whose greying hair gets a fresh bleach job every four weeks, whose hair Jon can’t imagine feeling like anything but chewed bubblegum as a result, knocks on his door on the fifth day of the weekend he’s planning on making seven days long. 

“What are you doing here?” Jon asks as soon as he’s managed to get the door open. He winces. “Ah, apologies, I didn’t mean to sound quite so –”

Elias waves his hand and smiles good-naturedly. “No, no, I get it. You don’t want to see your boss when you’re at home.”

“Right,” Jon agrees hesitantly. 

“Tim and Martin and Sasha got something for you,” Elias says. He hands a little package to him. The wrapping paper is blue with pink balloons printed all over. “It’s cupcakes.”

Jon, still slightly confused at the presence of Elias on his doorstep, stammers. “Wasn’t I supposed to open it myself to find out?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’d open it.” Elias nods pointedly at something behind Jon, inside the flat. 

Jon looks back over his shoulder. The unopened mail overflowing off the hallway table and onto the floor. Weeks worth of envelopes of varying degrees of importance. “Ah,” he says weakly. “I need to get around to opening those.”

“Jon,” Elias says. His voice is so soft. “Is something going on?”

Jon goes quiet. He thinks, for a singular, vulnerable, scary moment about inviting Elias in. About telling him. Would he understand? Jon looks at his face. He’s clean shaven and smiling. That greying hair. Would he get it? Would any of them get it?

“Thank you for bringing the gift,” he says finally. “Have a good day.”

–

He has to go to work eventually. 

He avoids Martin. He avoids Tim. 

Sasha comes by. She looks like she wants to say something, but Jon just looks at her and the tired frustration in his eyes must be enough to make her think twice about whatever it is that she was going to say because she ends up just turning on her heels and walking back out again. 

It’s fine. It’s better like that. He’s never been that into relationships anyway. Platonic or anything else. Better to be alone. 

But Elias –

–

“Jon,” he says as he enters the office. 

“Elias,” Jon says back, startled. Seems like this is the greeting they’re settling on, then. 

“I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s going on,” Elias says, “but as not only your boss, but hopefully your friend as well, I’d love to know if there’s something in your life that’s preventing you from doing your job.”

Jon bites his tongue so he doesn’t tell Elias that they’re _definitely_ not friends. That they’ve talked maybe a handful of times. That he’s hardly going to go to his _boss_ with his issues.

“I’m alright,” he says. A bit sharper than he’d been going for, although he thinks it might be better to be firm about it. That way there’s no way for it to be mistaken for weakness. No soft spots for Elias to dig his nails into. “I’m sorry if my job performance has been unsatisfactory. I’ll do better.”

The second part of the carefully rehearsed line has trouble leaving his mouth. Tongue curling around it like it’s poison. Face twisting into a sneer. 

“It’s not your,” Elias starts, and then shakes his head. “Okay. Let me try that again. I care about you, Jon, and it’s obvious that you’re struggling with something. I know I’m your boss, but this isn’t about your job. It’s just that you’ve been focused on your job since you started here and now something has been stopping you from doing that. Nothing else.”

Care about him. His boss.

“Right,” Jon says. “I need to get back to work.”

–

Elias doesn’t give up. 

On his doorstep. In the specific Costa Jon stops at on the way to work most mornings. At the bus stop. 

“Will you leave me alone?” Jon finally explodes. “This isn’t _normal_.”

Elias eyes him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

And Elias has these green, piercing eyes that don’t actually look _inhuman_ but that _do_ look just intimidating enough that it’s hard for Jon to look directly into them for too long at a time. 

“Fine,” he spits out. “I spent a lot of money on something that I thought was going to make my life better and turns out that not only did I waste that money but I’ve also wasted almost three years of my life thinking I was going to be _happy_ one day just as long as I was good and waited patiently. Is that good enough? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Ah,” Elias says mildly. He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jon feels _exhausted_ suddenly. “What? That’s it?”

“What did you think I’d say?”

Jon opens his mouth. He thinks about all those support groups he’d thought about joining briefly. All the detailed talk. Everyone talking like they’ve died. Taking turns reciting eulogies for themselves. People crying and telling them they’re going to be okay, eventually, while obviously not believing their own words. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. He feels a little sick. 

“Do you need time off?”

“It’s not going to change anything,” Jon says. “Time off work is not going to change anything.”

Elias hums. “True. I didn’t think you would.”

Jon sighs shakily. Blinks twice, hard enough that when he opens his eyes properly again his eyes hurt a little. “Thanks for the offer.”

“No problem,” Elias says. “I’ll see you at work.”

And then he’s _gone_. Just like that.

–

Elias takes that conversation as an open invitation to come by _again._

“What?” Jon asks. He’s wrapped in a bathrobe. The thick curtains are drawn and the flat is dark. 

“Just wanted to check on you,” Elias says brightly. He holds up a paper bag. “And I got you something.”

Jon reaches for the paper bag gingerly, brows furrowed. “What?” he repeats himself.

“Told you,” Elias says. “I care about you.”

Jon rolls his eyes as he opens the bag. There’s a single vanilla creme crown inside. It’s still warm. “A pastry.”

“No need to be so excited,” Elias says. “It’s just a pastry.”

Jon sighs. Closes his eyes. “If this is some sort of a comment on me _being too skinny_ or _looking like I might pass out any minute_ –”

“You really are determined to think the worst of me,” Elias says brightly. His voice goes a little more serious. “Seriously, Jon. I honestly, genuinely want to help.”

There’s a mixture of emotions that goes through him. Despair. Discomfort. Hope. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I have to go take a shower.”

–

When Elias wants to take him out for lunch he doesn’t ask, he _tells_.

“I brought lunch,” Jon says helplessly. He lifts up the little tupperware container for Elias to see. As if to prove he’s telling the truth.

“Have it for dinner,” Elias says, “or leave it for tomorrow. Come on. Live a little, Jon.”

Because Elias doesn’t ask for permission. Elias tells people what’s going to happen, and then it happens. Jon drags his feet all the way to the reception, where Elias tells Rosie he’s taking a long lunch in a tone that makes it sound like he’s doing something _naughty_ , and she nods at him brightly, and Jon looks at her, and nods gingerly. She nods back, and smiles. 

The restaurant he insists on taking him isn’t _that_ fancy. Just a quiet little place tucked between a Chinese restaurant and a Thai place that he knows to be on the more expensive side, both closed until dinner. It’s not like it’s some sort of an upscale place, but it does have mimosas on the lunch menu, and the silverware shines in the light of the nice ceiling lights. 

“My treat,” Elias says when the waitress leaves them to look through the menus. Jon, who normally grabs something from one of the takeaways or just eats leftovers, eyes it with a long-suffering expression. 

“Why?” Jon asks. He puts his menu down. 

“Why what?”

Jon pinches his nose. Maybe being so openly rude to his boss is a bad idea. “Why are you being _nice_ to me?”

“I did come to your door without your permission,” Elias says mildly. “Have you tried vegan pizza?”

“Multiple times,” Jon mutters. “I haven’t.”

Elias hums thoughtfully. “I wonder if it’s any good. I’ve heard the cheese is hard to get right. Humans spent centuries coming up with all these different types of cheese, figuring out what melts at what temperature, all that. It’d make sense for it to take a while to get it right from scratch again.”

Jon, uninterested in going vegan in any capacity, makes a vague noise. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I think I’m going to try it,” Elias says. “Variety is the spice of life, after all.”

“Elias.”

Elias puts the menu down. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I want to be there for you. I care about you.”

Jon makes another noise. Elias’ eyes don’t particularly soften, but he does smile for just a split second. 

“Please excuse my bluntness, but it doesn’t seem like you have many people you can go to.”

It’s true. It still hurts to hear it said out loud. Jon clenches his jaw. “You don’t know that.”

“That’s not an insult,” Elias says mildly. “Just an observation. Are you going to pick something to order or shall I pick for you?”

Jon picks the menu up again. Whatever. Does it matter? He picks a sandwich. Elias doesn’t comment on it.

–

The thing is that Jon doesn’t _mind_ Elias. Just the way he seems to think Jon is incapable of dealing with his issues on his own. And the way he seems to think Jon’s incapable of evaluating _whether_ he’s unable to deal with his issues on his own. 

The next time Elias shows up at his flat Jon tells this to him.

“You don’t have to yell at me, Jon,” he says, the same mild tone he always seems to use when Jon tells him off for anything. “If you don’t want me to come to your flat you can just tell me to stop.”

“Fine,” Jon says. He bites his tongue so he doesn’t apologize from instinct alone. “Please stop showing up uninvited.”

“Alright,” Elias says. “I’ll go, then.” 

And then, true to his word, without saying anything else, he leaves. Like it’s that easy. Like there was nothing specific he came to say or do. Like nothing was lost. Jon leans against the heavy door of his flat like it’s the only thing keeping the outside outside. He doesn’t want Elias to come back. He kind of wants him to come back.

–

He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, after this rejection Elias would no longer speak to him at work. At least not the way he’s been talking to him. 

(It’s hard to put a finger on it. Like a friend, perhaps. Or an equal. It’s been such a long time since either of those were words Jon could use to describe someone’s treatment of him.)

Contrary to his worries (and why would he worry about it, he wonders, when he never asked for it? When all he’s done is trample all over his boundaries?) Elias greets him the next day as if nothing’s happened. He even has coffee for him. 

“I might have gotten your order wrong,” he tells him. Jon raises his eyebrows.

“I doubt it,” he says. “It’s just black coffee.”

Elias smiles at him. “Looks like I’ll live to see another day.”

Jon, for what feels like it must be the first time, hesitantly smiles back. 

–

So Jon sits in his flat and thinks about things that maybe he should stop thinking so hard about. Or things he maybe should think differently about. Or not think about at all. 

How he’d read all those books and internet articles and diagnostic guidelines. How with every line his pulse had sped up just a bit more. How pieces had clicked into place one by one until he’d felt too choked up to even breathe. 

He hadn’t been _broken_. Unusual, maybe, but Jon’s used to that. He can take _unusual_. Just as long as he’s not _wrong_. As long as he doesn’t have to feel that way forever. It’d been another few years for him to realize the same thing about his sexuality, that it’s not _just_ him, or that it’s not because of the _other_ parts of him. For a while there he’d felt like maybe he hadn’t been _incomplete_ after all. Like the pieces had all been together all along. Just maybe in a different shape than what he’d wanted. 

In his flat there are two mirrors. The one in his bathroom, above the sink, and the one in his bedroom, the one he’d thrown a flat sheet over back a few weeks ago, when he’d decided he no longer wanted to be reminded of things he couldn’t change after all. When he’d decided that even with his hoodie on he’d rather not remember that somewhere underneath the fabric he existed within a body of any sort. Jon stands in front of the full length one, naked, and tries to imagine. 

Elias hasn’t misgendered him. _Yet,_ says the voice in his head. _Maybe never_ , says the other voice in his head. It’s the same one that, after he’d gotten the letter informing him of the waitlist, had told him that three years is no time at all. “Does it matter?” he mutters to himself. 

The flat sheet obscuring his view doesn’t say anything back. Jon gets dressed. One of the two assumptions is going to turn out to be true, sooner or later. Might as well wait to see which one it’ll be.

–

It takes another month for him to actually _tell_ Elias what’d happened in any sort of real detail. 

He’d expected Elias to get awkward. To not know what to say, or for him to need the whole concept to be explained to him in detail. He’d fully expected he’d distance himself from Jon at that point, or maybe stay for a few more weeks just to make it seem like that hadn’t been what made him lose interest and then stop talking to him in this weirdly personal way. Mystery solved, after all. No point in staying any longer. 

Instead of either of the two options Jon’d come up as the only possibilities Elias’d looked him in the eyes with such a burning intensity that Jon’d had to look away. “Jon,” he’d said, and for once he’d sounded nothing but very, very serious, “I am so sorry.”

It hadn’t been pity. Jon’d had to say this to himself the whole way home. Not pity. Just sympathy. Something in Elias’ voice, or in his eyes. Something that’d made him feel like he _understood_. He _couldn’t,_ of course, but he’d made it seem that way with such skill and conviction that for a moment Jon’d felt nothing but _seen_ in a way that felt brand new. 

And Elias doesn’t pull away. If anything he wiggles in closer, into that space between whatever wall Jon’s built between himself and any and all people who might try to get close enough to reach into his ribcage and rip anything out, and refuses to leave. Jon doesn’t _understand_.

There’s a brief period of time Jon realizes he’s suddenly, viscerally afraid that Elias is a _chaser_. That him being trans is the whole point. It makes his blood run cold, but Elias, standing a few meters away in the hot dog stand line, eyeing the chalkboard menu critically, had done nothing all day that would’ve made it seem like he’d been trying to get into his pants at all. 

In fact, Jon thinks, the only time he’d focused on it at all had been when Jon’d brought it up. And he’d, aside from the fact that he seemed to be somewhat unable to understand why Jon wouldn’t want him to poke and prod and damn near bully him into talking about his life and feelings, been nothing but respectful of him. 

So – Jon, hugging his arms around his middle with such force he’d cut off the circulation to his hands, had felt something click. Something like the first time he’d realized the reason he’d hated being seen as a woman hadn’t been because he didn’t love Georgie, or because being seen holding her hand felt dangerous, or because he was just an irrevocably bad person. 

Not as dramatic. Just a little click. Just big enough to feel. Medium sized deal. 

“Maybe I should just detransition,” Jon whispers one evening. They’re not on a date but they’re out together. The car is quiet. Something about that makes him feel brave enough to say out loud what he’s never put into words before.

Elias doesn’t react with any visible surprise or shock. “You still feel like a man, don’t you?”

Jon looks away. His chest feels both lighter and like someone’s funneled dirt down his throat until he’s full to the back of his throat with it. “Yes.”

“Why would you detransition, then?”

“Is there a point to keep up trying if nobody else will see me as one?”

Elias is quiet for what feels like a long time. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it’s long enough for Jon to realize he probably should’ve kept his mouth shut completely. Like he’s put all this baggage on someone who probably doesn’t know anything about these things at all. 

“I see you as a man,” Elias finally says. “I don’t want to try to convince you either way, Jon. But your life isn’t _over_. And you don’t have to give up on the parts of yourself that you _know_ are right.” 

Jon swallows around some of the invisible dirt in his throat. His instinct is to tell Elias he has no idea what he’s talking about. That his life might not be over but sometimes it feels that way anyway. To tell him about the sheets that keep piling over the mirror. How it’d taken him so long to force himself to stop scrubbing his skin until it bled in the shower that he still has a few scars, visible in some lights, small and accusing. 

He’d been the one to bring it up. Is there a right answer he wants from Elias? 

“Okay,” he says instead. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Elias says. “And Jon – if you ever need anything I’m just a phone call away.”

His voice is earnest. His eyes, on the road, are earnest. Jon knows this because they always are, when he says these things. The dirt in his throat packs down as if stamped on. 

“Thank you,” he says again. Outside the rain patters on. 

–

So –

Eventually Jon has to take the flat sheet off the mirror. Eventually it’s going to have to go. He stares at the white expanse of it. The wrinkles where it’s been exposed to the humid air coming in through his bedroom window. 

It could stay there forever, he thinks. Nothing really demands that he looks at himself. That he acknowledges what he looks like. He could be safe forever. 

He watches the little gusts of wind move the edges of it. Back and forth. Back and forth.

–

Elias wisely doesn’t comment on the state of his flat.

“Quaint,” he says instead. Jon watches his fingers twitch at the sight of the layer of dust that’s gathered on the ledge of the fireplace that he’s not allowed to use. 

“It’s a mess,” Jon says. “I’ve been meaning to do a deep clean.”

“It’s fine,” Elias says. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jon is pretty sure it’s a lie. Or something technically true but not really. Like maybe he’s been to a haunted house in the past, with inches of dust carefully placed on every surface. Or he’s seen something similar enough on telly. Some sort of a bad reality TV show. 

“Tea?” he asks instead. “If you want to sit down I can bring you a cup.”

“Sure,” Elias says. His crisp slacks look out of place resting against the fabric of his old sofa. “No sugar, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon mutters quietly. Disappears into the kitchen.

–

And maybe it’s a little backwards, Jon supposes, how they’re doing this. Like maybe this all should’ve started with Jon falling into Elias’ arms, distressed and in tears, and maybe Elias should’ve carried him home, and tucked him into bed, and fussed at his bedside, and climbed into the bed still fully clothed, held him until he stopped shaking –

Jon shakes his head. Something like that. He’s still red-eyed and shaky. His mouth tastes like what sandpaper feels like. 

“Feel any better?” Elias asks. His voice is a little rough. Against the nape of Jon’s neck it feels different than it does when he speaks from a distance.

“No,” Jon says honestly. Elias moves in closer until the fronts of his knees are tucked into the backs of Jon’s, slotted completely against the outside lines and edges of Jon’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” Elias says. He, too, sounds honest. Jon wonders about turning around in his arms. Pressing his face into the dip between his collar bones. Where he smells like cologne, mostly. 

“It’s okay,” he says instead. It’s not really okay, but it might be, eventually, if he believes hard enough. “Sorry I’m a mess today.”

“Don’t be,” Elias says, and then he presses a kiss to the back of Jon’s head. Jon’s breath catches in his chest for a second before he manages to get it to dislodge again. 

“Okay,” he says. His voice is small. He wishes it wasn’t.

–

“Don’t touch my chest,” Jon says rigidly. 

He’s wearing both his binder and his shirt. It’s unlikely it’ll be a problem, but it’s the first thing he can think of when Elias pulls away from the kiss to look at him. When the decision that it’s going to lead to sex has been made. 

Elias, with a flush spreading over his face, nods. “Anything else?”

Jon fidgets. A part of him wonders if this is a good idea at all. “If I ask you to stop touching me somewhere, please stop touching me there. Or if I want to stop completely, please respect that.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t expect the _worst_ of me anymore.”

“I don’t,” Jon protests. Sighs. Tries to will the tension to leave his shoulders. “I don’t.”

“If you’d rather we don’t do this that’s perfectly fine. You don’t _have_ to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that,” Jon says. And the funny thing is that he _does_ know that. That if he tells Elias to get dressed and leave Elias _will_ get dressed and leave. That he won’t hold it against him. 

“So,” Elias pushes, “anything else?”

Jon thinks about – he thinks about hands between his legs. Fingers that don’t dip in but that _could_. The slick sounds that make him nauseous. 

“Don’t,” he starts. Closes his mouth. “Um.”

“Jon,” Elias starts. 

Jon holds one hand up. Shut up, it says. I’ll finish but you need to be quiet. 

“Don’t touch me,” and his ears go all hot, “down there.”

Elias’ brows furrow as he tries to make sense of it. “So –”

“I still want you to fuck me,” Jon mumbles. The word sounds so _crude_. “Just no hands. And – and – no looking.”

This is where he expects for Elias to say something. Maybe laugh at him. It is silly, Jon supposes. How he’s okay with Elias’ cock up his arse but not his hands on him. “Do you want to touch _me_?” he asks instead. 

“Yes,” Jon says breathlessly. His hands twitch. He does want it. 

“Come on, then,” Elias says. His hands go to his belt buckle, and then there’s the click of metal to metal. He smiles. Jon’s heart goes to his throat. 

–

So, at work –

Elias speaks to him like an equal. He supposes they are. Jon no longer works _for_ him, after all. Elias takes him out for lunch.

“I can still get top surgery,” he says softly. The spoon he’s using to stir his coffee clicks against the edges of the mug every few seconds. 

“Are you going to?”

Jon looks down at his sandwich. His stomach is in knots. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t say it’s too scary to say anything definitive because this, too, is something that might get taken away. If his body isn’t receptive to testosterone maybe it won’t be receptive to a scalpel either. 

Elias eyes him. He doesn’t tell him what to do. He never does. Not about this. “Either way I’ll be there,” he says, “if you want me.”

Jon hums. “Maybe,” he says again. Smiles hesitantly.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs,
> 
> \- employee/boss power imbalance, although there is no _real_ pressure from elias for the relationship to become romantic or anything like that a lot of his actions break the normal boss/employee relationship boundaries. this is acknowledged by jon as well. relatedly, non-sexual consent/boundary violations (elias being VERY determined to make jon tell him whats wrong, showing up at his door repeatedly, that kinda stuff) EDIT; PLEASE note that this can be read as pretty much anything UP to and including straight up stalking
> 
> \- implied eating issues/unsolicited comments about someones body (just jon asking elias if hes trying to imply something)
> 
> \- brief mentions of self harm
> 
> \- one sided trans/trans hostility (jon and martin)
> 
> \- jons asexuality isnt discussed in much detail, and he does like. have sex in this universe
> 
> \- mental health issues caused by dysphoria and societal transphobia
> 
> \- mentions of anti-gay violence in the context of what is read as a wlw relationship
> 
> \- the UK trans healthcare system <3


End file.
